Sunday, February 25, 2018
The Little Girl Next Door
At fourteen I babysat the baby girl next door. I adored her. She was a sparkplug – always smiling, always dragging sunshine through every room behind her. She couldn’t say my name, so I became Meenie. When she was three, her family moved away. I saw her again when she was five, and then last year I read her obituary. Breast cancer.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Catching up day 3
May 21, 2018 My grandparents were the first people I knew to own a microwave oven. Theirs was brown*, had a tiny wind...
-
I've slowly abandoned facebook. Mostly. I still have my business page, and I can't leave that since most of my orders come from ther...
-
I am chronically tired. Somehow I lost the knack for getting a good night’s sleep and so when I Google a non-medical sleep suggestion, I’ll...
-
This is the best thing I've ever read. Okay - that might be a bit hyperbolic, but only a bit. This is a non-fiction book that tells ...
My second Wow on your blog today. That's rough. Life is shocking and hard.
ReplyDelete